Let Her Go
by Seeker Rose
Summary: You knew it was the place for you as soon as you step inside. It's vintage, it's homely. It screams her. You tell yourself you're an idiot because you are. You have probably just ruined the one chance of happiness you have tried for years, your whole life, to find. Songfic set during HBP. Throughout his mission with the werewolves, Remus' thoughts constantly drift to Tonks.


**A/N: **after making some changes to this, i decided to re-upload this to fanfiction because so far it's my favourite piece i've written and i feel it would be a shame not to show a fic i'm quite happy with. this is a songfic, based on the lyrics from let her go by passenger. the breaks represent a change in verse, apart from the last which is the chorus. please review and let me know what you think.

**disclaimer:** the characters belong to j k rowling and any associated companies. the song 'let her go' belongs to passenger and any associated companies.

* * *

_Let Her Go_

You're sitting on your own in the corner of some dingy Muggle pub you found on your 'travels', out of sight from everyone else. You knew it was the place for you as soon as you step inside. There are twinkling fairy lights dangling from shelves that are filled to the brim with the best of literature. Everything from the tables to the chairs are mismatched and well worn.

It's vintage, it's homely. It screams _her_.

Or rather it reminds you of the both of you, of a past where you shared a home, a bed. Of a dream you discussed where it's happily ever after and you're married with a handful of overly colourful children just as wonderful and brilliant as her, their mother, you're wife. It was a dream that had almost come true, you even have the ring in your pocket you remind yourself bitterly, until once again life handed you an agonisingly bad card. A dream over so fast, broken by one single word; werewolves. On second thoughts, as you stare into the empty whiskey glass that has been filled several times already, you start to think coming here was a very, very bad idea.

* * *

Just blinking is painful. Her heart shaped face peers subliminally in the dark for that quarter of a second. She is a beautiful as you remember her always being, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief and suggestion, and its agonising. It reminds you of everything you've lost, but you urge yourself to remember why you made this decision. You need her to her carry on with her life, maybe find someone who will replace him. But that idea makes you sick. The idea of her in another man's arms almost makes you forget your mission and run back to her.

Almost. You are a spy, and that comes first. Unfortunately.

The memories of a similar mission years ago makes you stubbornly stay. It was different back then, but the outcome was horrifying. They thought you were the traitor. The dark creature was an obvious choice. Old prejudices die hard. And now, they're gone. Lily, James, Sirius. And Peter, metaphorically. Dead. Maybe if you had broken contact then none of it would have happened. You were selfish for keeping them the last time, and you paid dearly. You are cursed, so you must lose. That is what you cannot allow again. Not to Dora. Again, you blink and see her. Sometimes she's lying on your bed, asleep, and other times the loose white sheets are tucked round her naked body as she feigns interest in some new and irrelevant fact you've found from a book about some magical creature you now can't remember because she's slipping you're reading glasses off and whispering she wants you. But you remember what you must do. At least you think that is what you should do. It's the noble thing. _  
_

* * *

_It's that time of the month again_ you joke to yourself, remembering the old joke between the two of you. You're staring at the ceiling of the old dilapidated barn you found a few days before, the ever darkening sky peeking through the cracks. Feeling incredibly vulnerable, not just because you are naked, you pray as you agonisingly break the bone in your foot that nothing goes wrong and no-one gets hurt and hope this barn will be an accommodating prison.

You've never been one for religion, but each month you've been here you pray with all you have.

The feeling of despair never fades though. And as the empty feeling in your cardiac muscle fills with the hunt, hatred and anger, _wolfish qualities_ you remind yourself, you try to hold on to the memories of love you both shared, all the laughs and all of _her_, because she is, was, the one good thing you had left in your life. The one thing you let yourself fall completely for, head over heels if you will, terrifyingly fast. But the wolf doesn't allow for memories of pleasure. Not of that kind anyway.

* * *

She is present in your sleep too. The sound of the others like you, _no not like you _you can hear her preach, muttering and snoring in their sleep are in such contrast to the memory of her beautiful voice. Just the memory creates a lullaby in your mind and sends you off to the Sandman in peace, well as much peace as a spy in a werewolf camp can have, which is very little.

In sleep, she is yours.

Her hair in her usual pink spikes turns into her naturally long dirty blonde locks as she pushes you back on your bed and kisses you deeply, passionately, giving you her all. That night is one of the finer memories that you have, even if Sirius did catch you both mid passion, but you lie awake now and want to yell in anger because you can't hold her as you did then, and never again will you. She doesn't deserve an old, poor werewolf like you and you tell yourself every minute of the day that this is the right thing for her. But it doesn't make it any easier.

You know you let yourself fall completely and irrevocably in love with her all too fast, and you hate yourself for it.

* * *

But you love her. It's true. You do, with all your heart. She think she's humiliated herself yelling at you like she did, in front of everyone too, but you admire her for it. It's one reason, amongst many, why you love her. Her courage, her stubbornness, her determination, her dedication. You watch her leave the hospital wing, brushing gently past you- you feel the electricity as shoulder touches chest- and it is you who feels humiliated. Not by her, but because of your own actions. She is the only person who has ever left you truly speechless.

You've seen the Patronus and the unchanging hair to match yours. This magic you both feel is intrinsic.

She gave everything to you, and what you thought was for the better, has destroyed her. You blame the wolf at first, but he takes only a little part of the responsibility. This is you and your stubbornness to let people in and a backlash of your own silly prejudice. You alone have destroyed the one bloody decent thing in your life because you didn't want to get hurt again. Damn you and your weakness to be liked. And when you realise you're starting to sound like her, a decision has been made.

You tell yourself you're an idiot because you are. You have probably just ruined the one chance of happiness you have tried for years, your whole life, to find. You let her go. You let her go, but that is one thing you're going to fix. You must go. Putting your Gryffindor nobility aside and swapping it for bravery you speed walk towards the closing hospital wing doors. You feel the ring box bumping in your jacket pocket. The decision was made a long time ago it seems. It just needed a certain Hufflepuff with a hatred of her first name to remove the fog.

You let her go once, and if she'll allow it, you won't let it happen again.


End file.
